by Deborah A. Chaney
Clouds smiled for me today
parted to reveal
a cerulean expanse
with golden edges
The flowers were fearless
opening with the weight
of summer sprinkles
upon the glimmering
velvet of nudity.
Finches used the sky
in a saffron dance
to delight my essence
just for me
melodic noise kissed
my ears with soft
to quiet my soul.
For now I understand
that no matter
the world and its
horrors, I have moments
To share with those
has scarred, trampled
with shame, disappointment
Deborah A. Chaney lives in the Pacific Northwest and writes poetry, novels and short stories.
My Thank You, for Your Hand In The Dance......
by Pam Lawrence
I can feel you tugging at me,
pulling me onto the dance floor again,
I am blushing, my garments so sheer...
Your arms are punctuations and exclamations
holding my embarrassment.
Arms wrapping around me with your unique rhythm;
our hips bending like S’s
pressing that great adjective against the noun of my waiting...
Waiting for your describing.
I tremble, leaf bending to your song.
Your structure holds me up
this high rise constructed for swaying against the night;
the backdrop of our dark imagination.
This is the smoothest dance I’ve ever known
as my resistence gives way like an unjust levy
leaving behind only the primal need of my flesh,
crawling with want of yours
the scales of epidermis you shed in your journey
across the page, crumbs of treasure dropped for me to find...
Your words dressed up in mink and madness
whirling me on this floor, in shoes of electric blue.
You pull me close, close to your creation
whirling me here in your arms for all the world to witness,
spinning me with the magic in your fingers,
playing my mind to completion with your song
impregnating me with inspiration,
my sheer garments in a pile at our feet now....
Naked I am again
words flying off the perch of my lips with our song.
Pam Lawrence lives in the US, is a poet, dancer, mother, grandmother and "loves all things beautiful and finds beauty in many things."
Winter Too Soon
The air was spring fresh and fragrant
as we traded smile for secret smile.
Good wine and laughter kept us light-hearted, light-headed,
conspiratorially we stay like this awhile.
The sun was midday high and hot
while in summer fields we lay.
With sweat swimming salmon arched backs,
at love we play.
The sky was storm torn autumn and dark.
Heading home we dragged our feet.
The house was cold with waiting.
Outside we paused, our love like a sentence incomplete
The moon was midwinter large and low,
we were muted by its dark-light,
and suddenly wide awake stopped dreaming.
We walked, but could not out walk the night.
Lee Reynoldson is a new writer based in the UK.